


Nobody Said It'd Be This Hard

by WaldosAkimbo



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 0t3, Multi, Post Season 2, and YOU get cute kisses, everybody gets cute kisses, seriously just take the shot, sweet summer love, you get cute kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-04 22:21:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12780798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaldosAkimbo/pseuds/WaldosAkimbo
Summary: Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers have a good thing going. But you know what would make it even better? Target practice with Steve Harrington. Somebody take the shot.





	Nobody Said It'd Be This Hard

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Никто не говорил, что будет так тяжело // Nobody Said It'd Be This Hard](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14047812) by [Flight_of_fancy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flight_of_fancy/pseuds/Flight_of_fancy)



Nobody said it would be easy. For them, honestly, that was half the fun.

“Just, tell me a dream,” said Nancy, nipping at his nose. Jonathan knew when to pull out of reach of her teeth and when to let her nip or bite or take. Sometimes, she just needed it. Sometimes he just wanted it more than breathing. Something about facing the worst this town has to offer leaves life a little dull, and they were finding ways to bring color back into it. He wasn’t going to take that away from her.

“A dream,” he said with a scoff. “Nancy. Do I look like the kind of kid who got lots of dreams?”

“You dream,” she said and shifted again so he could put an arm around her. They were tucked away in The Place, broken beer bottles littering the fence a couple meters off, the breeze taking away their heat as greedily as they fed each other on kisses and tender touches. They found a comfortable enough tree and even though it was early spring, they sat in its shadows, back pressed against the trunk and limbs entangled. The Place was sanctuary. The Place was sacred. The Place was lonely and perfect. “You definitely dream, Jonathan Byers.”

Sometimes it was just teasing when she said his name like that. Sometimes it was a come on, a call, a command. But it was never used to hurt him. Not in the kind of way that, y'know, actually hurt.

“Yeah, fine, I dream,” he answered and nuzzled her hair. “But it’s…it’s nothing. It’s nonsense. I dream like you dream, right?”

And they did. They did dream the same thing.

Nobody said it would be easy.

–

They caught him after school, walking back to his car. He had his dark gray Member’s Only jacket pulled up around his strictly straight jawline, brown hair tickling his shoulders to keep warm from the cold. It was some pretty sweet hair; you had to give him the props for it. He wasn’t scowling, wasn’t muttering bitterly to himself, which he’d taken to doing for just a short time after they had broken up. He was over that. Not a great boyfriend, but a pretty decent babysitter. That’s what he said. Steve Harrington even smiled more now and had a little bounce in his step. But he saw the old beat up car and something in his face just soured, just a little. Couldn’t be helped, really.

“Hey,” he said cordially, twitching his eyebrows down just a second before he settled back into a cocky, easy grin. There was something straight meltable about that grin. Nancy wouldn’t deny it either; they’d had fun and he was so tempting and sweet sometimes, it was hard not to get lost in the whirlwind that was Steve Harrington. “What’re you two cool cats up to?”

“We,” Nancy started. She looked up with her big blue eyes, ones that Jonathan had captured a thousand and one times on film. She smiled this cute little smile and huffed through her cute little nose. Jonathan almost went to put his arm around her simply to be close and enjoy her, but he crossed his arms and leaned back against his car. His stomach fluttered as she laid it out. “We were gonna go practice shooting…and….” Nancy waved her fingers some as she set the question into motion. “Well, we wanted to know if you wanted to come? With us?”

“With you?”

Steve Harrington’s gut reaction was to be mean about it. He threw the question back, arms still helpfully tucked away in his pockets, and he sort’ve jolted forward some. The nerve? The gall? And he had every right to feel that way, of course he did, but something in him had softened too. They could all see it. They could all feel it, if they’d just listen. It was hard. Hawkins, while sweet and rural and the only hometown they could dream of, was not a place for sweet and soft. Not anymore. Steve Harrington had a baseball bat with _nails_ driven into it for chrissake. That isn’t something soft.

Still. Nobody said it’d be easy.

“So, like,” he started, and shrugged, not looking them in the eye. “So, like, you guys practice _shooting_ then. I mean, that’s cool. I can see how it’d be useful, I guess. My old man has a gun in the house, y’know. What do you guy’s use?”

He was rambling. He was putting on a show, but the interest was there. Jonathan smirked, his cheek pinching up under his eye just a little.

Eventually, after some bolstering and ego stroking, Jonathan bobbed his head in that sporadic nod he did sometimes, like he was rattling out all the dissenting voices and going with his guts. His heart, if they were hopeful.

“Yeah, I mean, yeah, alright. Yeah. I’ll join you guys. Show you how to shoot a gun,” he started, and then let his shoulders sag. “No, who am I even kidding, I can’t shoot anything worth a damn. Nance, you were a way better shot than I’ll ever be. Bet she’s got you beat too, eh, Lover Boy?” Steve closed his eyes as soon as he said it, chastising himself or his runaway mouth or both, and smirked.

“She does,” Jonathan offered and gave him an easy smile back. It wasn’t nearly as charming.

“Alright, so. You want to—”

The sound of Billy Hargrove’s dark blue ’79 Camaro roared to life. Jonathan closed his eyes at the sudden violent shotgun sound of the car. Nancy squeaked involuntarily. And Steve Harrington actually flinched. They each turned to look at it.

“Okay, well,” said Steve. His hands became fists, protected by his Member’s Only jacket. “Tell me we can use _that_ guy for target practice.”

They all gave a nervous laugh at that. Wouldn’t that be something?

-

“Okay, but make sure you hold it like this,” said Nancy, stepping around Steve so she could wrap her hands around his, the both of them holding the gun together. “Yeah, like that.” She widened her step some, feet planted firmly on the earth. Nancy was always a solid person like that. Yeah, she was, well, what’s the word for it? A whip? She was a whip, thin, but could crack open your flesh. “And _never_ hold it like that,” she amended, showing Steve exactly what he’d done wrong.

“Yeah, I get it, Nance, for, like, the hundredth time.”

“Are you sure? Because you just did it again.”

Jonathan smiled and gave a little puff of a laugh. He was behind them, standing at a safe distance, both as a comfort to them in these little intimate moments and as a matter of saving himself from getting shot. Not that he thought Steve Harrington would actually shoot him, but, hey, things turned sour all the time. Accidents happened. It was just for the best.

He was carefully winding the film on his cannon, looking through the viewport at the subject in front of him, and he had a soft smile painted on his face. It was a lovely subject. Something with soul and color and form that spoke to a fluttering place in his heart. Jonathan planted both of his feet in the earth as well, mirroring Nancy as she gave her instructions, wrapped around Steve Harrington like so. Like lace, maybe, or barbed wire.

“And what’s so funny back there, Lover Boy?” Steve shot back, glancing over his shoulder.

“Nothing,” Jonathan answered through a shaky laugh. He smiled, less teeth this time. “I swear. Nothing.”

“Yeah, it better be nothing,” Steve said, and puffed up his shoulders some. A cute tick, his little macho bravado. “Alright, Nance, can I just try? Can you let me try?”

“Try,” she said, miffed as she waved him on and took a step back, then another, drawn over to Jonathan and his camera. He smiled and made sure to line up the shot as Harrington squared his shoulders. “He’s gonna miss,” Nancy sang quietly over to him, a roll of her eyes.

“Sure,” Jonathan answered and blinked slowly.

“You better make me look cool, Byers,” said Steve and took a deep breath. He fired and just as the sound of the bullet rang out, Jonathan snapped his picture.

He wound the film. Aimed. Another shot from Steve as Jonathan took his picture. They both coiled and uncoiled in unison, firing their respective weapons.

Four bullets for Steve. Seven pictures for Jonathan. He wasn’t going to say he felt the winner in this little battle of the fingers, as it might be, but Jonathan felt pretty proud. Excited to develop the film, too. He was already imagining himself sealed away in the dark room, the comfort of the chemical baths and the dull red light to guide him, when Steve turned back to them and gave his most winning smile.

“Well?” he asked, eyebrows raised in his feathery hairline. “Was I cool or what?”

Nancy had a knuckle up to her lips to keep from laughing. Jonathan smirked again and took her picture, and she just shoved at him playfully.

“C’mon, Byers, tell me I looked cool.”

“You looked cool,” Jonathan answered dutifully.

“Yeah, but you missed every shot,” said Nancy and laughed a little behind her hand.

“What?” Steve spun, looking back at the fence with three brown beer bottles and two tin cans perched atop it. He pointed at a hole in the wood next to the rusty Campbell’s soup can. “Uh, then what’s that, huh? I got that at least.”

“No,” said Nancy, sauntering up next to him. She walked with purpose; it was Jonathan who read the desire in it. “That was one of mine. You missed the whole thing by a country mile.”

“Bullshit,” said Steve with no heat in it. He waved again at the fence as Nancy took the pistol from him. “I got one, though. I got one. Byers, c’mon, man, take my side on this.”

“I dunno,” Jonathan said behind his camera. “You really want me on your side in this?”

“Yes!” Steve answered, eyes bulging a little. “Obviously.”

Something in his instincts told him to distance himself. Make a weird face, a bad comment, and then just take another step back. But that’s not what dreams are made of. Instead, he shrugged helplessly and stepped a little to the right to catch some of the light through the trees, the pale spring lines cutting behind Jonathan and Nancy in a wonderful latticework. He’d have to burn the edges some, but it would be one of his best shots he’d ever taken.

“Might be,” Jonathan finally said, letting the camera rest against his chest as he wound the film around. “Odds are against you, since she’s fired at that fence like a thousand times.”

“Yeah,” said Steve, dropping his arms at his side. “I mean, I guess.”

“Still,” Jonathan added. “I mean, it _could_ be yours.”

Nancy just laughed a little as she took the spot that had been worn out in the grass and dirt, the so-called “home plate” where they liked to practice their shooting. Sometimes they varied the distance and the angle, but it was a comfort taking up the same spot. It was like practicing a well-loved song.

“Just watch how it’s done, boys,” she said, and raised her arm, lining up her shot.

Steve went to go stand by Jonathan, arms crossed but frame a little more relaxed now that they’d spent more time together.

“Yeah, show us how it’s done,” he said quietly. Jonathan liked that. Steve muttered to himself a lot. He had a lot to say, a lot to offer, a lot of room in him that needed something to reach out and say, “I see you, man.” There was a click from the camera and Jonathan unconsciously dropped his hand. And then he reached out and put his hand on Steve’s shoulder as they watched Nancy aim her pistol. He wasn’t even sure why he did it. Because it was cold? Because he didn’t want Steve to step back any further and bump into him? Because a boy can dream?

To his credit, Steve didn’t jump away either. He almost leaned back into it. His arms were still crossed and he pivoted on his hip, spinning back some to give Jonathan Byers a quick wink and a smile, nodding again at Nancy.

“This better be good,” he said.

“It will be,” said Jonathan and squeezed his shoulder some, patted it once, and let go.

Nancy shot every target. They shattered or pinged off the fence with perfection.

“Sonuvabitch,” Steve hissed with appreciation.

Jonathan just patted his shoulder again, walking around good ol’ Steve and giving him a smile. “Yeah,” he said and went over to Nancy, beckoning him.

“Yeah,” said Steve, following after. “Yeah, sonuvabitch.”

-

“Count that!” Steve shouted triumphantly, pumping his fist up and down as the brown glass rained down in the green grass shoots. He crowed, waving the pistol in his other hand. At least his finger wasn’t on the trigger this time.

“Yes, alright, it’s counted,” Nancy said, going up to him again and taking the gun from his hand. “Just don’t _do_ that.”

“Okay okay okay. Right, you’re right.” Steve put his hands in his hair, brushing it back out of his face, which was beaming like he was the sun. “But that was pretty good, right?”

“Pretty good,” said Nancy and pursed her lips just a little at him. It meant she was annoyed. It meant she was thrilled. It meant she wanted to kiss him and Jonathan captured her face in the careful lines of his camera lens, just so he could show her later.

“Oh my god, Byers,” said Steve, rolling his head on the pivot of his long neck. “How many pictures are you going to take, seriously?”

“I wanna make sure my portfolio is up to snuff,” Jonathan said, being more deliberate now as he lingered with the camera up to his eye, kneeling some to get a different angle of the woods. “Trying to get _just_ the right look, y’know?”

“What look,” said Steve, and leapt up onto the old rotted log that forced the fence to deviate from its careful narrow path. “This look? This is a look, Byers. Trust me.” Steve threw himself onto the old fence, draping across it like a swimsuit model. He even raised one of his legs up and propped it on the wood, languishing with an arm thrown over his face for dramatic effect.

“Steve Harrington,” Nancy said, a threat, a promise, a come on. “That’s not such a smart idea.”

“No?” Steve looked up from under his arm. “It needs more ass, doesn’t it? Yeah, it needs more ass.” He was working on flipping himself over, straddling the fence with a leg on either side as he pressed his chest along the wood. Jonathan would admit his throat went dry and he swallowed awkwardly as Steve Harrington stretched out on the wood. His heart thrummed as Nancy Wheeler walked over, hip cocked as she assessed his posture. “How’s this? Don’t let her ruin my shot, Byers. You gotta make it look good.” Steve pursed his lips and there was a cracking noise.

There was this moment. It was brief, but beautiful. Had a sepia syrupy tone to it, with Nancy Wheeler standing over Steve Harrington, her eyebrows turned down just a little in his commanding scowl, a fist on her hip as she passed her judgement. In the same breath, Steve Harrington perked his head up and he showed fear. He showed honest, wide-eyed fear, and he didn’t let go of the fence, but Jonathan could see him reaching out anyways, if only with his eyes and his face, asking, begging to be saved. He reached and the sun was golden over them, white puffs of pollen dotting the landscape around them, the grass rippling in the light breeze as new buds on old trees shook awake in the early heat wave. There was the crack, the hip, the reach, and Jonathan drank it all up, unmarred by the view in his camera.

The fence just collapsed under him.

To be fair, it was an old fence. Walt Jeremy owned the property and his son David hadn’t done much to repair it. To be doubly fair, he didn’t say anything about the trio doing target practice on the old fence either, so it was almost a trade-off really. The wormy gray wood just snapped and Steve went down with it, landing on the grass with a loud “oof.” He groaned and rolled off the wood. Nancy shrieked, crouching at his side as Jonathan bolted over, holding his camera protectively against his chest.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Nancy asked, running light fingers over his back.

“Steve?” Jonathan croaked, standing over them, his boots shuffling in the dry dirt.

Steve groaned. Steve rolled over again and showed off a little red blossom over his eye. A point that was soon welling up with blood. He groaned and he reached up and he touched the blood and swore three separate times as he dabbed at it.

“My face is seriously just everybody’s fucking punching bag, isn’t it?” he demanded, holding his fingers against the small cut. Nancy was dabbing at it with her white gloves and Steve gently smacked her head away. “No, don’t worry about it. It just looks bad, but it isn’t. These things always bleed more than they’re worth.”

“You okay?” Jonathan asked, still standing.

“Do I look like I’m okay, Byers?” Steve asked, but only because he was annoyed. Not angry. Not really. “Yeah,” he said after a bit. Now he pressed his palm against it and held it there. A tiny trickle snaked out from under his palm and painted the side of his head. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry about that.”

“You shouldn’t be sorry,” said Nancy, her hand lingering on his wrist. “That fence is just, seriously, so old.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan added, unhelpfully.

“Yeah,” Steve said, finally looking up. He had to squint against the sunlight, but he looked directly at Jonathan. “Yeah. I guess so.” He smiled at Nancy, giving her a sidelong glance as he kept his face turned up into the light. Maybe to help keep it tipped back, like you do when you have a bloody nose. Except Steve didn’t have a bloody nose. Jonathan just swallowed again. His face spread open in a wicked grin. “I still got that shot, though.”

Nancy slapped him playfully with her slightly bloody glove, standing up as she went to go retrieve their pistol and box of bullets that she had set down on the clearing, keeping it a safe distance. She kissed Jonathan’s cheek quickly as she passed. He smiled and then looked down. Steve was still watching, but he had on an easy grin and held up his free hand.

“Help me up, Byers.”

“Sure,” said Jonathan, clapping their hands together so he had a good grip and pulled. Steve pulled down and Jonathan didn’t have as good a stance as he thought, almost tumbling directly on top of Steve. “Jeeze! Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, catching himself at the last second.

“Need a better grip,” said Steve, almost whispering it in Jonathan’s ear before he pushed against his chest, helping Jonathan to his feet before he got to his own. Steve clapped Jonathan on the shoulder, winking as he did so. He stepped past him to go to Nancy. “So, like, where we going to set up now that I crashed the fence?”

“Oh,” said Nancy, checking the bullets in the pistol one at a time. She nodded her head without looking up, motioning for a place just down the fence a couple of feet. “That’ll work just fine if we—”

Steve grabbed Nancy, swinging her towards him like he was Rick Blaine going in to sweep up Isla Lund in Casablanca. He kissed her, holding her carefully in the small of her back and the other hand cradling her head, dipping her ever so slightly. Nancy stiffened and Jonathan gasped quietly to himself, his fingertips buzzing at the sight. There was a small sound of complaint, of shock, before Nancy melted into it. How could she not? Steve angled them so that Nancy’s face was in better light, so that his hair covered the line of blood over his temple, so that their bodies were pressed together and the field of Walt Jeremy’s farm stretched out behind them, creating a soft green backdrop. Nancy carded her fingers through Steve’s hair, her eyebrows softened, and Jonathan instinctively took the shot.

“Finally,” said Steve after he heard the shutter and click, breaking his face away. He laughed a little. Nancy laughed a little. Jonathan tried to laugh, but his voice was gone, dancing through the woods with his thumping heart. “Think he got it?” he asked, teasing the tip of his nose against Nancy’s.

“Got…got what?” she asked, blinking slowly up at him, like she was coming out of a dream. She looked back at Jonathan and her hands turned to fists on Steve’s shoulders. She was about to push him away when Jonathan shook his head, ever so slightly, and her features softened again.

“Steve Harrington,” she said instead, looking up at him all doe eyed and innocent. Their little sharp shooter, their monster hunter. “Did you fall from that fence on purpose?”

“For what?” he asked, turning his gaze back on her. “For sympathy points? Oh yeah, no, absolutely I did. Did it work? Did it work, Byers?” He looked up and Jonathan gave a flustered series of consonants and vowels, shrinking a little as he did with hunched shoulders and blushing cheeks. “Oh yeah, it worked, Nance. Look at that.”

And they looked. And Jonathan’s face went up like it was on fire.

“It worked,” said Steve, carefully breaking away from Nancy then.

He held her hand just a moment longer than he needed to as he walked over towards Jonathan, who was tripping a little as he tried to get away, backing up into the broken fence. He stumbled and started to fall backwards when Steve grabbed his forearm and yanked him back up to his feet, their faces inches apart. Jonathan still had a firm hand on the camera, holding it away from his neck so it wasn’t crushed between them.

“What did I say?” Steve asked, searching his eyes. “Need a stronger grip, Byers.”

“Uh,” Jonathan said, his voice warbling. He flinched back when Steve put his hand on Jonathan’s shoulder, moving it slowly towards his neck. “Um.”

“It’s fine, Byers,” said Steve quietly. “It’s okay, man. I promise.”

“Uh,” he said, quieter, almost a whisper. He flashed his eyes over to Nancy, who was smiling behind her hand again, her shoulders shaking a little from laughing silently. She waved him on, giving him a nod, a promise of approval, a silent “go on.”

A boy can dream.

And nobody said it would be this easy.

When Steve Harrington kissed him, it didn’t match the image he had in his mind. Steve, who had very technically bullied him throughout their years in middle school, who had very technically went in to protect Nancy Wheeler when he had taken those pictures of the house the night Barb died, who had very technically got into a fight with him and egged him on until he beat Steve’s face into a pulp. Who very technically had been Nancy’s boyfriend until their relationship withered and unraveled and Jonathan found his way in bed with her because he wasn’t one to have trust issues. No sir. No way. Not now.

Steve kissed with a sort’ve dominance, a hunger, where he pushed down to meet Jonathan because he was taller, more muscular, athletic, but no less kind or soft or sweet. Jonathan’s arm holding the camera started to go slack as he took a fistful of Steve’s hair, so amazingly soft under his fingers, and he pushed back, moaning just a little against Steve’s lips. It seemed to egg Steve on, his hands seeking more, his tongue pressing up and seeking something deeper out of it, more meaning, more…more. They let their bodies meet, a long line of contact between them, warmed by the sun, by their hands, by their breath and he felt like he was drowning.

When they finally broke apart, Steve was laughing. Not unkindly, of course, just letting the nervous energy escape him in laughter. It was unnerving. Or it wasn’t unnerving, it was cute. Or it wasn’t cute, it was mean? Jonathan’s head was spinning and he wasn’t sure how to react, so he just smiled sheepishly, like he did at Nancy when she caught him unaware. Steve searched Jonathan’s face and then down the length of his neck, his shoulders, and out to the camera he was still holding dutifully out of reach.

“Oh,” said Steve, turning his head to it, looking a little sad. “We should’ve gotten that on film!” He thumped Jonathan’s chest. “Would’ve been good for your portfolio.”

“Oh, I don’t think….” Jonathan scrubbed the back of his head, stepping a little away from Steve. But Steve just dropped his hands down Jonathan’s chest and looped his fingers into Jonathan’s belt like it was the easiest thing. “I mean. No, we don’t…need to….”

“Tell him it would’ve been good, Nance,” said Steve, smiling again as he waved her closer. She was smiling brighter now, the soft glow of a full moon and Jonathan a lonely tree standing between them. “How perfect would that be?”

“It would’ve been good,” she said, coming up beside him and wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her cheek on his chest. She snaked a hand up Steve’s chest and held onto his neckline, fingers coiled around the lapel of his Member’s Only jacket. “We’ll get it.”

“We will?” asked Jonathan, his voice coming back in little inches, in pieces. His head was spinning and he thought he was going to fall if not for these two pressed against him.

“We will,” Steve said, laughing again, easier than ever. “Probably. I mean, I don’t have an eye for it or anything. You’ll have to show us how.” He stepped back just a little further and a scowl started to appear as he looked beyond them. They turned instinctively, expecting to see someone coming out of the woods to ruin their fun.

“What is it?” Nancy asked.

“No, I mean, you can shoot a gun, you can shoot a camera,” Steve said slowly, nodding as he said it. “What the hell can I shoot that’s better than you two?”

“Your mouth,” Nancy said and drew him back again, her fist still firmly wrapped around his lapel so he couldn’t get far away.

“You wound me, Nancy Wheeler,” he said. Jonathan almost swooned again. The way he said her name. A come on. An invite. It fit perfectly in his mouth and he wanted to taste it on Steve’s lips, but he just laughed, shaking with it. “What’s so funny, Jonathan Byers?”

“God,” Jonathan whispered, looking up at the clear blue sky.

Nobody said it would be easy. And for them, that was honestly half the fun.

**Author's Note:**

> This is seriously one of my favorite 0T3s. And, like, a part of me wanted to bring in Billy, but, alas, not this time. Just some very sweet kisses and that's all.


End file.
